


Where the Tide Brought Them

by primalrage



Series: McHanzo Week Challenges [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Romance, Blackwatch Era, Bottom Jesse McCree, First Dates, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, McHanzo Week, One Night Stands, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom, Pre-Canon, Pre-Shimada brother fight, Top Hanzo Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, Young Jesse McCree/Young Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primalrage/pseuds/primalrage
Summary: Following a successful Blackwatch mission in Japan, Jesse McCree is rewarded with a couple of days off to himself. A chance encounter on a small, isolated beach will change everything.Written for McHanzo Week 2020 - August 23rd prompt = Sands | Tides
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: McHanzo Week Challenges [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892626
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	Where the Tide Brought Them

**Author's Note:**

> Written in a single sitting, with minimal editing. This takes place in the Blackwatch era, very shortly before Hanzo "murders" Genji and Genji becomes a Blackwatch member himself.
> 
> Feel free to drop suggestions for the rest of the McHanzo Week 2020 prompts! There are quite a few that I still have no idea what I'm doing for them, and I may just not do them LMAO 
> 
> August 23 - Sand | Tides  
> August 24 - Scars | Promises  
> August 25 - Silly | Boogie  
> August 26 - Free AU Day  
> August 27 - The Wild | Trapped  
> August 28 - Seasons | Time  
> August 29 - Summer's End | Vacation

"Good job, McCree," the Strike-Commander had said, "you got the mission accomplished earlier than expected. How about we keep that between us? Take a few paid days off. We'll get you back here on the same return flight as originally scheduled."

Jesse McCree had not had so much as a single day off since joining Overwatch as a teenager. He didn't mind the constant work. After all, these missions felt important to him, and they allowed him to see the world. Plus, Reyes, the head of Overwatch's covert ops team Blackwatch - which Jesse was a member of - would kill him for slacking off. So he had tried to protest with some _It's no big deal_ and _No, really, I'm fine_ but Strike-Commander Morrison wouldn't have it. Jesse sighed. He supposed Morrison had authority over Reyes. There was no point fighting it, no matter how mad his Boss would be. 

The worst part about this sudden vacation was that Jesse was in Japan, of all places. He had never set foot in this country before and could not speak a single word of their language. Actually, that was a lie. He had been forced to look up and memorize "I'm sorry" very quickly.When he stepped on someone's foot in the packed train - _sumimasen._ When he knocked over the pitcher of water in the noodle place he was eating lunch at - _sumimasen._ When the clerk at the check-in desk of his hotel asked him a question that he didn't understand - _sumimasen._ He was so tired of fucking up and apologizing for everything. If he was going to be forced to stay in Japan for a few more days, then he wanted to get out of the city and find somewhere he could relax. A place that he could be alone, no risk of breaking things or stepping on people or messing up some custom. 

So that was how he had ended up here, on this beach.

He'd just searched online for some ideas, and this beach had come up on many lists. It wasn't a big tourist destination, and the local population was relatively small. When he had arrived on the first train that day, the beach had been busy with locals digging up clams from the sand. It was still early in the year, a little cold to be really out enjoying the ocean, and most of the men and women out there wore long sleeves and pants, instead of swimming trunks and bikinis of the beaches back at home. When the morning sun caught the ocean, it looked like molten silver. The hiss of the waves and the call of gulls welcomed him. That was how he had known he had come to the right place - just a pretty beach and a bunch of people living their lives, minding their business, uninterested in his arrival. 

He had popped into a convenient store to buy himself some snacks and drinks, and then he had followed the coast on foot. In some places, the wild woods reached out all the way to the shore, breaking up the stretch of beaches into smaller strips. By avoiding the main paths and just keeping an eye on the waves, he was able to find his own little patch of paradise. It was a small beach, maybe only one hundred feet long, and surrounded by tall red pines. 

Since he had come to Japan for work, he hadn't exactly been prepared with appropriate clothing. The evening before, though, he had found a hundred yen store, where he had bought flip flops, and a towel, and a picnic mat, and even a pair of cheap swim trunks (although he had to buy the largest size, and even then, they fit a little snug.) Jesse, clad in his new outfit, threw down his picnic mat and stretched out across it, letting the sun warm his back. Then he opened his plastic bag from the convenient store and dug into a meat bun. It tasted a lot better than he'd thought it would. Maybe the Strike-Commander was right; maybe he _had_ needed this day off. It felt good to just lay there, listen to the surf, and relax. 

He wasn't alone on this isolated strip of beach for long, though. After finishing his breakfast, Jesse had tipped his hat forward to shield his face from the sun and was right at the line between wakefulness and sleep, when he heard footsteps in the sand. 

Always on alert, thanks to his Overwatch career, Jesse's eyes shot across the sand. A man was walking to the sea. There were so many unusual things about him that Jesse's eyes couldn't settle on what to take in first. He was young, perhaps close to Jesse's own age, and had a tattoo that stretched from his wrist to his shoulder, wrapping the entirety of his left arm before ending across his breast. His hair was pulled back into a bun at the top of his head, making him look very much like a samurai. He was so muscled and fit that he looked completely out of place there on this tranquil, rural beach. 

But the most odd of all was that he carried a bag full of ceramics - bowls and plates and cups. Jesse couldn't see them clearly from this distance, but he could hear the clacks and scrapes of them shifting against each other in the bag. He pulled himself up on his elbow and watched as this stranger stood ankle-deep in the sea and began to toss his ceramics out into the waves. 

"What the hell!" Jesse shouted, scrambling to his feet. How could anyone just so casually stroll up to the water and begin littering like that?

The other man heard his outburst and turned to study him. His eyes were cold and dark. Jesse bit his bottom lip. He didn't know the word for litter or trash or stop. He didn't know _any_ words. All he could do was stand there and look angry. 

Then the other man asked, his lips curling into a scowl, "Can I help you?"

Wow, Jesse thought. This guy spoke perfect English. He crossed the beach to this man's side and put his hands on his hips. "Where do you get off, just tossin' your junk into the ocean like that?" he asked, "Ain't Japan got laws on littering?"

The stranger rolled his eyes. "I am not littering. Mind your own business," he said, and then he took another bowl from his bag and threw it out, underhanded, into the water. 

"Hey! Cut it out! I work for the United Nations. I'm sure I could... I don't know... get you ticketed or somethin'," Jesse threatened him, even though he didn't think that was actually true. In fact, he wasn't even certain there were laws against littering in this country, nor was he sure that Overwatch had an official stance on this kind of thing. He had half a mind to grab the bag out of this man's hands and punch him square in the face. 

The stranger looked entirely unimpressed. "I told you to mind your own business. This is not littering." He sighed. Rolled his eyes a second time. Then he said, "Look. I will show you."

He took some steps forward, deeper into the water, until it rose almost to his knees. Then he leaned forward, sinking his arms into the sea, and began to sift through the sand beneath his feet. When he stood straight again, his forearms dripping wet, he held something in his palm that he offered to Jesse. 

Jesse followed him into the sea and took the object from his hand. It was a piece of a ceramic plate, only perhaps two inches wide. The cracks where it had broken off the rest of the plate had been worn away to smooth edges. He could not make out the whole painted motif, but the portion that he held was decorated with tiny blue crows across a field of white. He turned it this way and that in his fingers, admiring the thing. 

"It is sea pottery," Hanzo explained, "The water breaks the ceramic into smaller pieces, and the sand polishes and smooths them. It is not littering. If left alone, eventually, they would all just become sand themselves. So, like I said, mind your own business."

Jesse turned his gaze from the bit of sea pottery to the stranger's face. He was made of of all severe angles. Jesse found him handsome, in some inexplicable way. "Sorry. This is real pretty," he said, offering the piece back to the stranger, "My name's Jesse."

"Hanzo," the man told him, and he reached down to pull up a handful of sand and water, which, once it had all dripped from between his fingertips, left behind more pieces of sea pottery "Keep it. There are thousands more."

Jesse took the pieces from Hanzo's hands. There was another blue and white chunk, painted in a pattern of waves, although this one was thinner and not from the same plate as the other piece. Another, also in the same blue and white, was an entire intact bottom to a tiny bowl, the kind Jesse was used to being served sauces in, and decorated with lotus flowers. One, solid green, had been so finely polished that it looked like it was made of jade. "Dang," was all that Jesse could say. 

"When my brother and I were children, if one of us broke any of my family's ceramics, my mother would take us out here to throw the whole set out to sea. We would return in the summer, when the weather was nice, to look for the pieces," Hanzo explained. 

"That's real nice," Jesse said, and, coming from anyone else, that might not have sounded genuine, but the smile he wore was so pleasant and filled with warmth that Hanzo knew he meant it. 

"Go on," Hanzo encouraged him, "Look for yourself."

Jesse waded out a little further and crouched low, the waves rising to his chest. He stuck his arms underwater, digging his fingers through the rocky bottom. When he brought up a handful of stones, he was surprised - they were not stones at all. In fact, almost the entire beach was composed of broken pieces of pottery. His hands were so full of them that they tumbled out of his fingers and were reclaimed by the sea. He was dumbfounded. All he could say was, "Wow." 

He didn't care much for fancy things in life. As much as he loved money, things like jewelry and expensive gadgets and nice clothes mattered very little to him. But this was different. He really admired the way that nature worked against this unwanted junk, transforming it into a beautiful treasure. It reminded him of oysters turning dirt into pearls, but on a much grander scale. 

"You should keep some of them," Hanzo suggested, "They make good souvenirs. I would throw the big pieces back out, though, so that they have a chance to get broken down some more."

Jesse picked his favorite pieces out from the pile in his hands, and he headed back to his belongings to dump them into his tote. From the shore, he watched as Hanzo returned to his task of tossing his ceramics out to the waves. The way his broad shoulders moved with each throw was hypnotizing. Only once his bag was empty did he wade back to the sand. He looked like he was heading right off the beach, right back out of Jesse's life, and Jesse felt panic rise as he watched that back shrink farther and farther away. 

"Hey! Hanzo! Wait up!" he shouted, scrambling after him. 

Hanzo turned to face him, his lips pursed into a thin line. "What?"

"Are you from around here?" Jesse asked. Why was he asking that? It was so pointless. But he realized he was just buying time, trying to fill the silence with _anything_.

"I am from Hanamura," Hanzo replied, as if that explained everything. 

"Oh, hm," Jesse said, trying to pretend he wasn't completely lost, "Are you headin' back there now, or...?"

"Why are you asking such personal questions?" Hanzo asked. 

"Do you want to get lunch?" Jesse blurted out, "Or dinner? Somethin'? With me?"

" _With you_?" 

Jesse laughed, running a hand through his sandy, messy hair, "Yeah. I know how it sounds. I just... I've been feelin' kinda alone, since I can't speak Japanese. It's nice t'talk to someone. To you."

"We have barely even spoken, and you are asking me on a date?" Hanzo asked. 

"Oh! I didn't - " 

"Fine," Hanzo said, interrupting him before he could blabber and ruin the moment any further, "What hotel are you staying at? I will meet you there at five o'clock. And make sure you put some sunscreen on soon, or you will be too sunburned to take me anywhere but a bathtub filled with aloe vera."

* * *

Jesse had no idea what he was doing. He'd never in his entire life asked some total stranger out to dinner. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him. Maybe it was the heat? Or maybe it was the way the water dripped down Hanzo's tattoo sleeve? Or maybe it was the allure of the sea pottery, rubbed smooth by the waves? Whatever the reason, there he was at 4:53 heading down to his hotel lobby dressed in the nicest clothes he had packed. He was glad, at least, that Overwatch didn't fuck around. He'd been able to book a reservation at one of the nicest hotels in the area, facing the water, and the lobby was impressive - all clean lines and modern furniture and tall windows to let in the best view of the ocean. He hoped that, when Hanzo arrived, he would be impressed. Maybe he'd wonder - _damn, what does this Jesse fellow do, to afford a hotel so nice?_ And maybe, if Jesse was lucky, he could convince Hanzo to come upstairs and see more. 

But his scheming was ruined when the elevator doors opened to let him on - there stood Hanzo, on the ride down to the ground floor. 

"Y-you didn't tell me you was at the same hotel," Jesse said, sliding in beside him. 

"You didn't ask," Hanzo said.

Okay, Jesse thought, as they descended in silence, so Hanzo was rich. There was something he now knew about this stranger. He also now knew that Hanamura was _not_ nearby. At least not close enough that Hanzo would have just gone back home after dumping his ceramics out into the ocean. What else could he learn about this intriguing man? 

"Where are we going?" Hanzo asked him, as the elevator came to a stop in the lobby. 

Jesse held the door open for him with an arm, then followed him out, "I dunno," he admitted, "I figured we could just walk up the beach and stop someplace we see."

Hanzo smiled, and Jesse saw how cold and condescending that smile was. It hurt. 

"Or, I mean, if you know somewhere - "

"No. Walking is fine." 

So they did. Jesse kept his hands in his pockets, to stop himself from fidgeting, but Hanzo didn't seem nervous about this at all. His head was held high. His gaze was unfaltering. Perhaps asking him out had been a mistake, Jesse thought, but then they made their way through the hotel's front doors, and he caught the smell of the seabreeze and the sparkle of the distant waves. They were close enough to hear the rush of the tide through the sand. In the low sun, Hanzo's black hair shone almost red. This was such a breathtaking place, and it was nice to have a breathtaking person to share the moment with. 

Feeling a rush of confidence, Jesse cut left and led the way up the sidewalk. The seafront street was mostly made up of small, family-owned shops and hole-in-the-wall restaurants, although there was a bustling chain coffee shop at the end of the block. As they walked, side-by-side, he asked Hanzo, "So, how'd you get fluent in English? I mean, tons of folks here know a little, but you use it like you've been speakin' it your whole life."

"I have been," Hanzo said, "My father made it a part of my education since birth."

"That was real smart o' him," Jesse said, "I wish I'd grown up speakin' more than just English. I picked up some Spanish, from my family, but never really got taught formally."

Hanzo seemed to have nothing to say about that, so after a few seconds' pause, Jesse tried another question. 

"What do you do?" 

"What do you mean?" Hanzo asked. 

"I mean, for work. What's yer job?" 

Hanzo glanced out at the beach. His eyes seemed very distant and vacant. "I am inheriting my father's business," he said. 

"Oh, hey, that's neat, Hanzo," Jesse said, "What's the family business?"

"Jesse," Hanzo said, his eyes snapping back to the present, to Jesse's face, where they seemed to bore a hole in him, "I appreciate you being friendly, but you do not have to try so hard."

"Huh?"

"We will go out to eat. We will go back to one of our hotel rooms. We will fuck. Then, we will never see each other again. There is no point in making this awkward conversation."

"W- _what_?" Jesse couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stopped in mid-step in the sidewalk, his mind trying so hard to process Hanzo's words that he couldn't even focus on walking.

Hanzo turned to face him. The look on his face, while lacking any warmth, was surprisingly patient. "I know who you are, _Jesse McCree_. The whole world has its eyes on Overwatch. You will go back to your job, and I will go back to mine, and we will never see each other after this weekend. Why pretend that this is something it is not?"

"T-that don't have to be true," Jesse protested, "If we liked each other, we could make it work."

"That is a sweet sentiment, but is that really what you believe?" 

Jesse's hands balled into fists at his sides. Hanzo was right, he knew. That didn't make the truth sting any less. "Well, fine. Then what's the point of all this stupid shit? Why bother dressin' up, or goin' to dinner, or puttin' on cologne for me, even?"

"There is no point," Hanzo admitted, "We can skip the pretense, if you wish."

He didn't _wish_. No. He wanted to get to know this serious-faced, scowling man who made treasures out of old ceramics. But the feelings had been deflated from him. He was sure Hanzo must have seen the disappointment on his face. "Sure," Jesse muttered, "Since there's no point, 'n all."

Hanzo took him by the hand. His palm was warmer than his expressions were, and his fingers were badly callused. Jesse was surprised by how callused they were, but he didn't have much time to wonder on it. Hanzo gave his arm a pull, and they were making their way back down the direction they had come, back to the hotel looming over the other end of the street. Jesse allowed himself to be dragged behind, through the lobby and to that same elevator, which opened as soon as Hanzo pressed the button, as though it hadn't expected them to get far. 

Hanzo swiped his key card and pressed the button for the top floor. 

Jesse didn't have time to be astonished by that, because Hanzo was on him in a heartbeat. He grabbed fistfuls of Jesse's shaggy hair and pulled him down into a kiss, one that melted Jesse right into his boots. He slumped back against the elevator wall and Hanzo pushed against him. He could feel the muscles of Hanzo's torso against him, separated only by layers of fabric. Hanzo's mouth swept across his, hungry and demanding. Jesse could only let him take what he wanted, his lips parting to let Hanzo in. 

The elevator came to a stop with a chime, and Hanzo grabbed Jesse by the belt buckle, dragging him out into the hall behind him. Jesse stumbled and let himself be pulled. They came to a door, which Hanzo opened with another swipe of his key card, and then Jesse was pushed inside. He had just a single second to admire the massive windows that gave a stunning view of the setting sun across the ocean, and then Hanzo was on him again, shoving him backwards towards the bed. Hanzo climbed on top of him, straddling him, and then flung off his shirt.

Jesse stared up at that tattoo with his jaw slack, trying to memorize the intricate design. It was a dragon on a backdrop of storm clouds, surrounded by thick bolts of lightning. "You're beautiful," he said.

To which Hanzo responded, "Shut up."

Hanzo was no novice. He had both of them undressed in seconds. He was already half-hard without even touching himself, and he slid into the curve of Jesse's side, resting his head on Jesse's arm, as his hand snaked down to coil around Jesse's cock and begin pumping life into it. Jesse was thrilled by his closeness. He leaned in to kiss his hot, angry mouth again, and Hanzo's tongue met his halfway. Jesse moaned, and Hanzo devoured the sound like a starving man. They were panting together, their legs winding together, their pulses racing together, as Hanzo kissed him more and more fiercely. 

Jesse wasn't getting hard, though. The longer Hanzo tried, the more distracted Jesse became, until all he could think about was his lukewarm flesh being abused in Hanzo's greedy fist. "Can I do this my way?" he asked Hanzo. 

Hanzo looked surprised, but he nodded, his arms withdrawing to his sides. 

"Just lay back and enjoy yourself. I want to take it slow. If this is gonna be our only chance, then... Well, I wanna remember this. I wanna make it last," Jesse said. 

He started at Hanzo's arm. He remembered the vision of Hanzo dripping wet on the beach, and his fingers began to caress the trails of his muscles, imagining the paths those rolling beads of saltwater must have taken. Then he lowered himself, kissing across the dragon's inked scales, taking in lungfuls of Hanzo's crisp, sharp cologne as he kissed nearer and nearer to Hanzo's throat. Hanzo lay very still, his dark eyes watching Jesse with a blazing intensity. "Are you nervous?" he asked, "Are you trying to waste time?"

"Hell no," Jesse growled, "Just shut up and sit back."

He was a little nervous, though. He had never been with anyone as intense or beautiful as Hanzo before, and the way Hanzo made everything feel so businesslike and emotionless was not working for him. He silenced Hanzo with a kiss, a little more slowly this time. Hanzo's lips were soft against his own chapped ones, something he had not noticed before. He put a hand on Hanzo's chest, his thumb rolling over the risen flesh of one dark nipple. Hanzo trembled a little beneath him, barely noticeable, but Jesse caught it. 

"Do you like that?" he breathed against Hanzo's lips. 

"Yes." When Hanzo's mouth opened to utter that syllable, Jesse let his tongue slip in to lick at his mouth. He tasted of fresh toothpaste. Hanzo licked him back, and one of his hands lifted to grip at Jesse's scalp, pulling him in closer. 

Jesse's thumb continued working at Hanzo's nipple, feeling it harden against his fingertip. Beneath his weight, Hanzo's quivers became stronger. Hanzo wanted to ask him what the fuck he was doing - how was he making this moment feel so electric and alive? But every time his mouth opened to form a word, Jesse was kissing him deeper, sucking away all his curiosity. 

The next thing Hanzo knew, Jesse had swung a leg over him, straddling his hips. Jesse's weight against Hanzo's cock made Hanzo hiss in both surprise and pleasure. Jesse pushed his forehead against Hanzo's and began to rock his hips. Each movement was slow and gentle, but the friction between them had Hanzo's hands clawing into the pillows beneath his head. "What about this?" Jesse asked, "Do you like this?" 

He opened his mouth. The sound that escaped was so small that it barely sounded like his own voice, " _Yes._ "

Jesse rolled and rolled his hips, finding a filthy rhythm. Each breath hitched into a sob. Hanzo's mouth hung open slack from the pleasure, drooling down his chin and chest. It's the lightest touch of cock against cock, so much so that it should be insignificant. It should be nothing. But it has Hanzo broken out in gooseflesh. He could feel Jesse growing bigger and harder against him. So this is what it feels like, Hanzo mused, to _want_ something as opposed to just _taking_ it. He had never known this before.

"Do you have any - " Jesse started to ask.

"Top drawer," Hanzo cut him off.

Jesse reached across him for the top drawer of the bedside table. He pulled out the brand new box of condoms and bottle of lubricant that Hanzo had purchased just hours before in anticipation of their evening. "Should I put it on, or -?" he asked, trailing off.

"Go ahead," Hanzo said. He wasn't about to help another grown man put a condom on. 

But after Jesse tore the package open with his teeth, he surprised Hanzo - he took Hanzo's cock in one hand and began to roll the condom down his length. Hanzo looked up at Jesse in mild surprise, "So you like to take charge?" he asked.

"Not at all," Jesse said, giving Hanzo an awkward smile, "It's just... half of the time, when you have a one night stand, you can't even remember the person's name afterwards. I just wanted to slow it down. I thought maybe I could make it special."

The notion made Hanzo smile, but the moment was ruined a little by Jesse dumping about a quarter of the bottle of lubricant onto Hanzo's lap. The liquid felt ice-cold on Hanzo's scalding flesh. He grimaced. "You're a sentimental man, Jesse. Not the kind of person I'd imagine in Overwatch."

"What's wrong with sentimental?" Jesse asked. 

There was a lot wrong with being sentimental, in Hanzo's opinion. It left you open for others to hurt you. But now wasn't the time for that kind of talk, because if Jesse didn't speed things up, he was going to have to take control back one way or another. He grabbed Jesse's shoulders, pulling him back down on top of him for another kiss. Jesse's tongue was eager against Hanzo's own. His wet, lubed up slid up into Hanzo's hair, where he let down Hanzo's ponytail and moaned in pleasure as the dark tresses fell around them. Hanzo hissed in irritation at the mess in his hair, but Jesse kissed the sound away, and _damn_ this foreigner was good at kissing. Hanzo had never been kissed so hard in his life. 

It was a surprise when Jesse eased down on him with no warning. Jesse seemed relaxed, even eager for it. Hanzo's fists dug into the sheets as Jesse braced himself against his chest. His thighs quivered, anxious to start thrusting, but Hanzo had decided to let Jesse set the pace. He wasn't one for whimsy and romance, but he couldn't bring himself to break those qualities in Jesse. Let him think this was important. Let him think that he wouldn't forget. And, maybe, since Jesse _was_ a bit of an international celebrity, he wouldn't be forgotten after all. 

Jesse began to rise and sink, rise and sink, his body moving like the waves. The rhythm made Hanzo's senses go fuzzy. More than anything, he was aware of the roar of his own pulse. It was all he could hear, all he could feel. Hanzo's instinct was to grab Jesse and start fucking harder, but there was something so _hot_ about letting someone else be in control for once. Jesse's pace was _maddening_. 

"Is that good?" Jesse asked. His face was pink and slick with sweat, his mouth agape in a constant gasp. 

Hanzo made a noise that was probably an affirmative, but he nodded his head just in case Jesse couldn't translate his nonsense. 

"What about this?" Jesse said. He started to grind down upon him with more aggression, throwing his full weight onto Hanzo's length. 

Hanzo sobbed out, his eyes rolling back, and his hips rose up off the mattress to meet Jesse halfway. Their bodies rocked together, Jesse thrusting down and Hanzo thrusting up, and soon they were both moaning nonsense at each other. Hanzo reached up to claw through Jesse's furry chest. Jesse slid his hands down and around his own cock, pumping it in time with their motions.

"Let me..." Hanzo tried to push his hands away, tried to help him out and take back some control, but Jesse wouldn't let him touch him.

"No. Just lay back. Just enjoy this," Jesse argued. 

So Hanzo did. He threw back his head into the pillows, and he closed his eyes. Behind his lids, there was a fireworks display going on. Jesse was riding him so hot and perfect that it was all he could do not to scream. The bed squealed. Jesse sweated above him, fucking his own fist with an untamed fury as he crashed down upon Hanzo's cock again and again. Hanzo whimpered and shuddered. He wanted to touch Jesse. He wanted to help him get off. It wasn't fair. And that thought almost made him laugh, because _of course_ this wasn't fair. Nothing was fair about this. Jesse was selfless and tight and an absolute expert, and Hanzo would never know the bliss of fucking him again. 

Then Jesse was sprawled on top of him, kissing him while he kept riding. Hanzo raised his arms to grab him by the hair, and he kissed him back like it mattered. Jesse was right at the edge. He could feel the tightening in him that signaled the end. He could fight it, he thought. He could keep this going forever. But then Hanzo's hair moved from his hair to his back, and he felt those manicured nails tearing up his skin along his spine. It unraveled him in an instant. He came all over Hanzo's stomach and chest, shooting thread after thread with pitiful shouts of pleasure. 

The fluttering of Jesse's muscles as his orgasm overwhelmed him was the final straw for Hanzo. He came, too, dumping a tremendous load into Jesse's tight hole that was expelled with such force it felt like a punch to the balls. He had to kick Jesse off of him. He had to wiggle out from beneath his weight. He couldn't take another instant of the pressure around his cock, because his nerves were all fried, and every bit of pleasure was just being registered in his brain as agony now. 

For a long time, the pair just lay there not touching, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get their breathing back under control. Hanzo wanted to lay there forever. Now that he had climaxed, his own sentimental side was kicking in, and he wanted Jesse's huge arms to fold around him and never let go. The thought sickened him, so he dragged himself out of bed to go and wash up. Jesse watched him head for the bathroom, too tired and numb to call him back. Hanzo didn't bother closing the bathroom door. He stood before the sink and wet a washcloth, trying to scrub off how filthy and used he felt. He hoped Jesse might take the hint and leave, but once he got himself feeling as refreshed as he could without a full shower, he turned back to the bed and found Jesse waiting for him. He looked so fucking pleased with himself. Hanzo couldn't even find it in his heart to be irritated. He just crawled back into the sticky, sweaty bed and allowed Jesse to pull him in close. 

"What is the family business?" Jesse asked again, and the question was so jarring to Hanzo that it felt like a sudden and instant lobotomy. He just pushed his face into Jesse's torso and tried to think of how to answer. He felt Jesse's hands combing through his hair. Jesse was humming contentedly, almost like a purring cat, and Hanzo enjoyed the rumble of it in Jesse's chest that he could feel against his cheek.

He mumbled something that Jesse couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

Hanzo leaned back to look up at him, and Jesse was shocked by how tortured his expression was. "They want me to kill my brother."

" _What?_ " That was not the kind of pillow talk that Jesse had expected. 

Hanzo didn't have the heart to string those words together a third time. 

"Who wants you to kill your brother?" Jesse asked.

"My father's business partners," Hanzo said, which was only half-true, "They believe my brother will ruin the business and try to take it away from me."

"What does your father have to say about it?" Jesse asked.

"He is dead." 

And then Hanzo was weeping, and Jesse was kissing his hair. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry, Hanzo. It's okay. It's okay. It'll get easier with time."

Hanzo would never have guessed, not in a thousand lifetimes, that he would be crying to some one night stand about his recently deceased father, and yet here he was. He supposed the release of chemicals in his brain had made him lose it. He would regret this when he felt more like himself in the morning. Hell, he would probably regret this in ten minutes. 

"Is your brother a bad person?" Jesse asked, "Does he deserve to die?"

"I do not think so," Hanzo whispered into his throat, blinded by the tears clinging to his eyelashes. 

"Then you can't kill him," Jesse said, making it sound so simple. 

"But what if they are right, and it is best for my father's business?"

"Well, Hanzo, really, what do you think yer dad is more proud of? His business? Or his sons?"

Hanzo sobbed in Jesse's arms, and Jesse rubbed his back. He didn't know what to say, which made him feel useless, but what he did not realize was that Hanzo just needed to be held far more than he needed wisdom at that moment. 

"I could help you, Hanzo. If you'd let me. I could take some time off work, and we could figure this out. You don't gotta be sad."

"You would go to such lengths to help a stranger?"

Jesse nodded, pushing his face into Hanzo's hair, "That's what I do all the time. Risk my life to help strangers. The only difference is, this time, it's a stranger I care about. I could help, y'know. If you'd let me."

"It does not matter," Hanzo said, "We will never see each other again, after this night."

"Why?" Jesse asked.

"Because I will wait until you fall asleep, and then I will sneak away. And you do not know anything but my given name. You will not be able to find me."

Jesse chewed on his bottom lip. He didn't understand why Hanzo was so determined to hurt himself. "Well, then," he said, "I guess I just can't fall asleep."

"You will have to eventually," Hanzo said. 

"Well, then, I'll just have to stay awake long enough to make you not wanna leave," Jesse replied. He smiled at Hanzo, although the expression did not reach his sad, watery eyes. 


End file.
